In Cold Blood: A Tale of Crustacean Murder in Three Parts

I. It was a dark & stormy afternoon. It was a Thursday, as I recall, or maybe it was a Friday. They say you never forget your first time, but now that I've been there and back, who can remember? Anyway, the dates don't really matter, because I'd had only one thing on my mind for a long time.

MURDER.

My partner, he phoned me from the place, you know, the place, the one where things get taken care of*. 'You wanna do this thing?' he asked me. I hesitated for only the briefest fraction of a second, considering the practicalities: Did I have the tools** to get the job done? Did I dare to do the deed itself? 'Oh yes,' I said hastily. 'Let's do this thing.' He arrived with our victims loosely contained in a paper bag, gently crinkling with the movement of an exploratory claw here and there.

* aka, the grocery store. You know. The place where things get taken care of.

** 5-quart stockpot, cooking tongs, large sink for rinsing, fresh sweet corn on the cob, potatoes, smoked sausage and seasonings.

II. Now before anyone gets upset, you should know that these particular freshwater crustaceans deserved their fate, for having thwarted me once before. We had a long, twisted history, and it wasn't pretty. When my partner arrived we dumped the unsuspecting victims from their brown paper sack into a large pot and covered them with a few changes of cool, fresh water.


We gave them a final rinse in the sink to remove any lingering traces of grit. I gave them a final chance to repent, but they were recalcitrant. I swear, one of them even raised a tiny, clenched little claw out of the water at me and shook it menacingly. 'All right, you little devils,' I said with gritted teeth tightly clenched. 'I've got a nice hot bath for ya.' And it was nice: full of halved cobs of corn, fat slices of smoked sausage, onion wedges, whole garlic cloves and generous shakes of cajun seasoning. Delicious*. As long as you weren't a crawfish.

* We used a recipe/method similar to the one given here.

One of them made a last, desperate attempt at escape. We laughed, having our 'Annie Hall' moment, somewhat nervously wielding a mesh strainer and hoping that between the two of us, we'd have the strength and steely nerve to wrangle this lone ranger back into the pot. Luck, or skill, was on our side. He was a brave fighter, but ultimately, a goner.

III. We pitched the whole mess out, once done, onto a tablecloth of newsprint*. Once you've dispatched your victims, it's best to get rid of them as quickly and as tastily as possible. And that mean sucking the delicious hot fat & liquid brains out of the heads**.


The sweetness of the crawfish meat (they are like tiny lobsters, after all, with most of the amazing meat resting in the tail) contrasted nicely with creamy bites of potato, golden kernels of corn, and salty, savory bites of sausage, all bound together in the same spicy seasoning that hints of fresh garlic and onion. A few of my favorite things, all in a pot together. Definitely don't forget to suck the heads.

* This is the best way to eat a simple, delicious boiled dinner with your fingers: all jumbled together, whole, with spices all blended together and no need to clean up afterwards. Just fold up the used newspaper with the shells and cobs and throw away!

** How to eat a whole crawfish: grasp the head tightly in one hand, the body/tail in the other. Squeeze the body close to where it joins with the head, twist until they separate. Place the tail meat between your teeth, bite down and suck or twist the tail meat free until it leaves the shell. Now, place the open end of the head in your mouth and create suction--you will be rewarded with warm, spicy, fatty juices! Suck all that you can out of there. This, along with the delicious tail meat (something with the texture and size of shrimp but the sweetness of lobster) is the good stuff. Suck those heads.

This is where the whole sordid tale came to an end: at the dining room table. If you do commit murder, it's best to have an accomplice. Tasty, tasty murder. No regrets. :)

Cooking on the Ice Planet Hoth with Darth Vader & the Gang: The French Laundry's Roulade of Duck with Creamed Sweet Corn and Morel Mushroom Sauce

My husband walked in right as I, kneeling subserviently on the floor, was bowing to touch my forehead reverently to the cover of the book.

'What is thy bidding, my master?' I rasped.

'What the hell are you doing?' he asked, his head tilted slightly. 'Is it yoga?'

'Ssshhhhhhhh,' I hissed in a tiny voice, swatting him away. 'Get out of here!' I resumed my forehead-bowing.

'He will join us or die, my master,' I solemnly intoned.

My name is Laurel Morley, and I do the bidding of Thomas Keller. That's famed American chef, restaurateur, multiple James Beard Award winner, and perhaps most importantly, cookbook writer Thomas Keller. And the book that I was so lovingly touching my forehead to? The French Laundry Cookbook. Chef Keller is undoubtedly the evil Emperor to my humble Darth Vader, and if he commands me to do it, it will be done. Make a delicate ice cream out of red beets? Pair beef cheeks with veal tongue? Reduce fresh herbs to an oily essence and vegetables to a fine powder? Poach a roulade of Savoy cabbage-wrapped duck breast, slice, and perch it on a bed of fresh creamed corn, topped with sautéed morels? As my man Vader would say, 'All too easy.'

This recipe begins with one of my favorite bright green, ruffly vegetables. A few individual leaves are lightly blanched to heighten their color and pliability, then chilled.

The next step involves trimming your duck breast (whole, boneless, about 12 oz.) into a neat and perfect rectangle, if you're Chef Keller, or into something approximating a trapezoid and involving some jigsaw-puzzling together, if you're me. Oh well. It's all going to roll together in the end, right?

Arrange the meat-trapezoid......er, perfect rectangle on the blanched cabbage leaves, which are resting on a large piece of plastic wrap. Roll up the duck in the leaves, then roll up the whole package in the plastic, twisting the ends tightly to secure. You then place this in the refrigerator while moving on to the next crucial step, pouring yourself a glass of wine and congratulating yourself on having wrapped expensive meat in delicate, damp leaves without tearing anything. Then you prepare the creamed corn.

'Creamed corn' is something that I have to stop right here and admit that I'd never so much as even tried in my lifetime. Don't get me wrong, I love corn in all its forms and preparations, but there's something about the phrase 'creamed corn' that screamed 'junior high cafeteria lunch in the 1950s' to me, something that would occupy a spot on the plate next to creamed chipped beef on toast, sloppy joes, or Jell-o fruit salad. Something dairy-laden, pasty and stodgy that I'd never eat, much less enjoy. And then the hologram of Chef Keller flickered to life before my very eyes.

'Soon you will see the power of my creamed corn,' he croaked from beneath his hood. 'My creamed corn is fresh and delicate, flavored only with butter, salt, pepper, and the simple starchy sweetness of corn itself. There isn't even a drop of cream in it. You will love this creamed corn. Search your feelings, you know it to be true....'

'Yes, my lord,' I mumbled, while getting out the food processor. The thing is, though, Emperor.....er, Chef Keller was one hundred percent right. This isn't your mama's 1950s creamed cafeteria corn, it's a light, yet somehow buttery, kind of a corn porridge, even when made with frozen corn (as mine was, since fresh corn wasn't yet in season a few weeks ago).

You take most of the corn and whizz it in the blender until pulpy (reserving the rest to be blanched then added back into the mix later to provide some much-needed textural contrast and chew), then pass it through a sieve to extract what Keller calls 'corn juice.' This substance is then heated gently and whisked until it thickens (because it's full of corn starch, get it? It's science!), then butter, salt & pepper, and the remaining corn kernels are added to the mixture, which has miraculously become a rich, silken thing, full of sweetness and deep corn flavor. It's the humblest-sounding part of the entire dish, what with those luscious (duck) breasts and sexy, earthy morels competing for your attention, but I honestly have to say it might have been my favorite part. It binds everything together perfectly, although I could have eaten a bowl of it just on its own. Certainly we'll be making it again, to accompany just about anything.

After it has refrigerated for awhile, slide your duck roulade into a nice warm bath of 190-degree water and poach for around 8 minutes. While this is cooking, chop and sauté some morels* in butter. At this point, the recipe calls for you to add some finely minced parsley and vegetables, and a dash of the French Laundry's 'Quick' Duck Sauce. 'Quick.' Ha. I improvised**. We had half a box of chicken stock kicking around in the fridge, and some cubes of frozen demiglace in the freezer (which my husband, who is a superhuman hyper-foodie, makes on a regular basis, thank goodness), which I combined and reduced over heat and which tasted amazing in the end, duck sauce or no duck sauce.

* Second confession of the entry here, I did not use the fresh morels called for in the recipe, although I'm sure they would have been delicious. Why, you ask? Because instead of living in lush, cool Northern California, I live in the middle of the desert, and fresh morels are something we just cannot do. I used rehydrated dried morels, and they were wonderful, just don't tell Chef Keller.

** Aaaaannnd, now for my third shameful confession, I did not use the French Laundry's 'Quick' Duck Sauce, or any kind of duck sauce, for that matter. Why, you ask? Because as much as I love and live to serve him, Chef Keller sometimes speaks a language of his own making in which words have their opposite meaning. 'Quick' duck sauce, translates roughly into 'Start with your recipe on p. 172, find out you need duck sauce (turn to p. 228) which is neither quick nor simple and requires you to have procured duck bones (although the meat called for in the recipe is a boneless breast, and so that's what you bought, dammit) and made, far ahead of time, a reduced stock-based sauce (the stock for which, by the way, is veal stock (turn to p. 222), and which he also expects you to have made even further in advance somehow).' In fact, a lot of the recipes in the French Laundry cookbook read like those 'Choose Your Own Adventure' books I remember from when I was a kid, the ones that had you constantly turning to some new page further and further along in the book, chasing the labyrinthine plot down deeper and deeper rabbit holes. Anyway, this is getting to be a hellishly long footnote and, what am I, David Foster Wallace?? The point is, it's a bit hard to cook this way. Even for a Jedi.

To assemble, remove poached roulade from its plastic wrapping and slice, using a very sharp knife or light saber. Place a spoonful of leftover duck sauce (or demiglace reduction) in the center of the plate, then place a large spoonful of creamed corn on top of this. Nestle a slice of duck roulade in the center of this, then top with sautéed morel sauce.

Gaze upon it in wonder.

As the flickering image of a hooded, sinister Thomas Keller would agree, 'It is your destiny.'

Attempted Murder in the Suburbs.

Nearly a week ago today, I attempted murder. I stalked my victims, desperately, in two separate locations across town, only to be thwarted at every turn. And I'm not sorry. In fact, I plan to try again, and the next time, I will be successful. There will be blood on my hands, as well as on my conscience.

Put down your phone. Before you call the police, you should know that it will be the clear blood of crustaceans that I will have on my hands. And if all goes deliciously, all over my plate and my happy, smiling face as well.

This post, however, isn't just about failed attempts, but also about an eventual major kitchen success. Let me back up and explain a little. You see, last week I was eliminated from the online cooking challenge known as Project Food Blog, and while I'm proud of the efforts I put forth and satisfied to have made it through several eliminations, on the day I was cut from the contest I was feeling..........a little less than zen about the whole thing. Emotional, shall we say. Turbulent. Murderous.

I wanted to kill something for my dinner.

An image swam up suddenly in my memory. I recalled the plastic bucket of lively, crawling crawfish--crayfish?--that I'd seen just a few days' previously at the local Asian market when I was stocking up on tiny baby octopus. They look like sweet little wee baby lobsters, crawfish, and I have a major weakness for anything that crawls or wriggles forth from the sea in a shell. I'd already been somewhat prepared to do some Major Cooking that evening, just in case I made it through the latest round of PFB eliminations, and I'd had crustaceans on my mind. Surely fate had decreed these tiny lobsters to die for my supper. Yeah, fate, that's it. Fate. I headed to the Mekong Market, fork in hand and crustacean bib in place. But the crawfish, they were gone! Not a single claw left behind. Undeterred, I chased my intended victims south to my old favorite haunt, Lee Lee Market, usually the home of many still-living sea delights. And found.........nothing. Not one crawfish. I cursed and raged at having, apparently, missed crawfish season by a few poorly-timed days. Nothing would die for my dinner that evening, at least, not by my own hand. I settled, grumbling something about bloodlust, for a pound of truly tasty-looking giant whole prawns instead. I had some serious shrimp and grits on my mind.



'You were supposed to be a wriggling, living, sacrificial crawfish! My bloodlust must be satisfied!'


Just look at him. He's speechless with fright.

Classic shrimp and grits in a bowl are a fine thing, and I've been served more than one outstanding bowl of them in my lifetime. I remembered one version in particular that was sweetly smoky and spicy, flavored gently with bacon and possessing subtle heat. That was the taste I was after. Still I wanted to try something I'd never seen before, to see how far I could change up the form without getting too far away from the fact that this was, in essence, delicious shrimp and simple sweet ground corn on a plate. I decided to go with an uptown cousin of 'cheese grits,' a smooth slab of polenta infused with smoked provolone cheese. Sliced, baked until crispy-edged and stacked with a creamy shrimp filling in between each layer, towering high above the plate with a whole cooked creature perched on top, this is what I was picturing. Surrounded by a sprinkling of whole corn kernels browned lightly in butter, dressed with a smoky roasted tomato, chipotle & bacon concoction. Are you racing to the kitchen? Are you cooking this yet?? You should be.

Start with a few oven-roasted whole tomatoes. I baked a few pieces of bacon right alongside these, at 350, because I love the way bacon turns out in the oven instead of the stovetop. Press tomatoes through a wire mesh sieve to leave behind skins and seeds. Add a few chipotle peppers (your level of heat preference may vary) and the crumbled bacon, pulse briefly in food processor until sauce is combined but still chunky. Set aside.

Make polenta, adding plenty of grated smoked provolone cheese (smoked Gouda would also be amazing here). Pour into a pan, making sure that you get a layer at least 3/4" deep, for maximum interior-creaminess-to-exterior-crispiness ratio. Cool polenta. Slice polenta. Bake polenta at 425 degrees on a pan well coated in olive oil, for 40 minutes or until both sides are lightly browned (turn once, halfway through). This step takes the longest, but you can do everything else while waiting on the polenta to get crispy.

Prepare a pot of boiling water, salted lightly. If you've got a glug of white wine and a bayleaf handy, so much the better, get them in there. Take your giant prawns--wait, you bought those suckers in Chinatown with the heads on, right?? I sure hope so, fella, because there's nothing better than sucking the scalding hot head fat and brains out of these once they're cooked, believe me. You're going to suck on those things like something out of a George Romero movie. Say it with me now.......Fat Is Flavor. Good. Now take your giant, whole prawns and boil them briefly until cooked. Reserve one whole prawn per serving, then shell the rest and add to food processor along with softened cream cheese, making sure to squeeze the contents of each head into the mixture. Add a small amount of chipotle (I used one half of one pepper, subtle heat is what you're after here), pulse to combine but don't over-blend ('shellfish mousse' is not what you're after here), make sure there are still decent-sized pieces of shrimp visible in the mixture. Set aside.

Once your polenta squares have browned up nicely in the oven, lower heat to 350, then smear a little of the shrimp mixture on each square and stack to your desired height. Crown each stack with a very dignified-looking whole boiled prawn. Hint: a well-placed bamboo skewer applied here is an amateur food stylist's best friend. Place in warm oven for about a minute or two to re-warm everything and let flavors combine. While this is happening, quickly brown a small amount of butter in a skillet, place corn in butter and saute until done. Salt and pepper to taste. Remove plates from oven and place a ring of caramelized corn around each stack. Drizzle lightly with tomato-chipotle-bacon dressing. A handful of fresh, barely chopped basil is essential for finishing this off--the bright green herbal zing balances the heavier flavors perfectly.

A sprig of fresh basil also makes an ideal garnish. When I first dreamed up making this dish with a whole crawfish perched on top, I imagined him clutching a mini sprig of fresh herbs in one stiff, reddened claw, bouquet-style. Because really, what's more inviting than a dinner that says, 'Eat me! And here....I also brought you some flowers'? Shrimp not having claws and all, you'll kind of have to use your imagination here, but I think the effect is still charming.

Enjoy with the one you love, or at least the one you love well enough to share some reasonably expensive shellfish products with, and some nicely chilled white wine. Before long, your plates will look like this:




This was an amazing meal, a lot of work, certainly, but perfect for those time when you feel like doing some Major Cooking indeed. And it's proof of two things. One, that it's possible to elevate a relatively lowly or simple concept to something much more artistic and delicious without destroying it completely--in fact in this case, I think it's better than the original. And second, it's possible to dream up a meal and execute it more or less perfectly, even when your original plans go somewhat awry. Often times, it all works out in the eating.

And speaking of 'execute.' Hmmmm.

I may have missed crawfish season by a narrow margin, and my fever may have been temporarily quenched by this wonderful, satisfyingly pretty meal. But. But. This bloodlust never sleeps. Sooner or later, I will have the chance to murder again, and I'm planning it now. I saw some lively crabs scrambling around in a bucket at the market, after all, and it just might be their turn.............

Muaah hahh hahh haaaaaaahh.